I Did, Once
by ink-of-the-written
Summary: I trusted someone once. I trusted many someones. This is the story of an OC mutant with the potential for a power that equals Magento's strength, but has the exact opposite effect. Who will persuade her to join who? Magneto vs Charles recruitment. I was going through a rough patch when I wrote this, but, hey, I think it's a good bit o' writing. Will continue if there's interest
1. The Mutant

On those perfect winter nights before Christmas break, when everybody is hoping for a snowday…I would cut the power if the schools didn't call it the night before. Of course, I didn't know _I_ was the reason. I would just think of the school and _wish_ the power would stop.

In the beginning, that's all it was.

When I got older, the whole town would be wished away in the mix, subconsciously. I treated my wishes as some treated the ice-cube down the loo, or the spoon under your pillow. Every wishing-habit was the same, except mine worked, _every single time_. I thought my wish was special and real and true. I had never dreamed I was the cause of these inexplicable power outages.

Torn from the magical charm of snowdays-on-command, my electromagnetic disruption enhanced to disrupting video clips in _Government and Civics_ that I didn't want to watch. They'd fade into a gray fuzz and then going black. I dismissed this as convenience, and was just as happy as any other kid when the screen winked into blackness. As the stress of high school began to build up, technology problems in classes I didn't enjoy became a regular nuisance to the teachers.

One morning in particular, a beautiful, dew-blanketed March morning, was too much. My favorite teacher had disappeared. Fellow students were spreading horrible rumors, and the student who I'd had a crush on since 6th grade (I was a senior in high school that year, so 7 years) was missing. He was either the cause or the victim…but he was intertwined in the whole mess somehow. I brushed hair out of my face as I drove in my tan silhouette minivan—an old, rusty couch on wheels which had been lacking three quarters of the luxury options it came with for three quarters of its life. There was one option in particular I had never used, but had always missed: the heated seat.

It was a beautiful morning, as always. The fields glittered in the early dew, and I was running 5 minutes late. I had a zero-hour class, an emotional headache, and a thermos of coffee. I'd skipped breakfast because I couldn't think clearly, so getting ready took twice as long. I'd traipsed out of the sleeping house wearing blue jeans, short-lipped blue Converse, a black turtle-neck sweater, blue fingerless gloves, a black jacket slung over one arm, a black backpack slung over one shoulder. A purse that looked more like a book-nerd's briefcase was slung over the same shoulder, and flapped against my side awkwardly with every step down the cold cement stairs as I left the warmth of home behind. Turning onto the center road of our small territory, tears pricked my eyes, remembering the pain and tension I was walking into without having really forgot. They said the teacher and student would go to jail…he wouldn't even be able to graduate high school…they also said the teacher had, uh, touched a girl in his office before the trip…I didn't want to believe, couldn't believe—they said he hated his job and was looking for a way out anyway—I trusted him and he helped me accomplish so much. He was happy here. I believed he was happy…and I was happy…They said the teacher slipped up and bought him alcohol….they said—

A fresh burn of tears simmered across my eyes. I blinked them back. They said the teacher was never coming back. I'd known him for 7 years, I trusted him, I admired him, I was devoted to everything he taught…I was one of his favorites. I wanted him to be proud of me. I'd learned so much…and now I doubted if I'd ever see him again. Not even to say thank you, or goodbye.

And then of course, there was _her_. That best friend with the impulsive lying and the hate and the relish for chaos…and the brilliant mind and the tragedies she dealt with…and how beautiful you thought she was. Radiant, but no one else ever seemed to see. She loved every minute of the misery, and might have been one of the oiliest orbs on the grape vine that was surely destroying my favorite teacher's chances of ever returning back to school.

My headache thrummed with a heightened intensity as I drove into the calm morning sun. I can't keep going to school, I can't do this anymore, please let it stop, make it stop—I felt hot tears collect in my eyes, and didn't care to blink them away. Let them stay. What do I care. The whole school was so fucking insensitive to the situation—no information, no explanation, and nothing to stop those horrible, horrible rumors. And none of my other teachers had known the role he had played in my life, how much he had influenced me. None of them knew something was missing. My parents weren't helping; everything they said involved _college._ The preparation required for that inevitable natural disaster was slowly crushing my spirit. I felt the poison melting through my cells, and most horrifyingly, my mind. I often wondered, numbly, if this is what losing sanity felt like.

Please, no more. Make it stop. Everything hurts too much right now and it's not okay—please just—

Too much strain. Too much pressure—

My gloved fingers tightened around the steering wheel, and I accelerated the rusty old van. I'd had urges of crashing this car and ending this damned life and never having to set foot in that damned school full of all those precious classroom memories that had become my foundation, my reason for optimism, for NEVER giving in completely, for finally fitting in and belonging and feeling _more_ than accepted…for feeling wanted, for exploring who I was in a place of comfort that he ruled and built and—WHOOSH

I blinked hard as the pressure beating my skull exited down my arms in a cool wave in the instance of a heartbeat. I saw it crackle around me in a ghostly blue web of energy. I felt woozy. All of the lights in my dashboard stopped. The car kept flying past, speeding. Eyes wide, my breath hitched as I saw the stoplight was blank, the usually obnoxious signs at the local tourist-trap apple orchard were dark, and the cars around me were void of the familiar red glow of their headlights. The golden fields' innocent colors were blurred from my current speed. The cars ahead screeched and crashed as drivers panicked, unable to stop their metal cages in time, all barreling down a road at the posted 55 mph. A pile-up was already 4 cars ahead in front of me, and I knew I wasn't going 55 anymore. Far from it.

Part of me was glad I hadn't glanced down to look.

Part of me was even more glad when I saw that I was destined to add to that pile-up…but no. I couldn't add to this, especially with a heightened speed. What had they done? This wasn't fair to them…this must have been my fault, somehow. My fault. My fault for feeling this way—

Another wave of pressure pounded my brain and the tears burned as yet another pulse of my miserable, weak, pathetic self white-washed the deadly situation—

As many had told me recently, it was my fault for feeling at all. They said I had a choice to let it get to me. I was being silly. Silly, silly, heart-wrenching emotions. Shame on you. Shame on you for being so vulnerable, so compassionate.

Shame on you for being so _weak_.

And so I had turned sharply just before the intersection's pileup, dodging a telephone pole and flying into the deep ditches lining the farmers' fields. Instinctively putting an arm up to protect my face, the car lurched with impossible force and I closed my eyes to the sickening bang of the crumpling hood, and my head smacked forward towards the steering wheel, cushioned by the raised arm. I didn't remain conscious enough to feel the pain of the whack settle in my bones.

The glistening meadows fell silent.

Three figures clad in armor and capes descended from a small black jet hovering over the intersection. Magneto lowered his arm as they touched down on the ground, his sidelong cape rustling coolly in the morning breeze.

He had lessened the impact of the crashing van.


	2. The Finding

Charles sat in his silent study, poised over various newspaper articles. A small television murmured lazily in the background. _"…And now reports from the south-east areas of Michigan claim to have experienced an instantaneous black-out at exactly the same moment. The effect of this current phenomena extends to handicapping electronic devices that are mobile and free of main power-line connections…"_ Charles glanced at the screen from over his papers. It showed a street devoid of lighting, people running about in confusion, and panned over to a pile-up of cars that were unable to stop. Some had crashed into a coffee shop, some into each other. _"…the odd nature of this detached catastrophe has experts baffled. Specialist Ruth MacKinley will join us in person and explain her theories after the break. In the meantime, gas prices have risen once again…"_ The television continued, but Charles was already rolling out the door.

Hank caught up with him on his route to Cerebro, and began questioning Charles avidly as the computer scanned his eye. "This means electromagnetic disruption—the _EXACT OPPOSITE_ of Erik's mutation. The possibility of having no relation but still existing with the same exact operons but reversed is absolutely astronomical—"

Charles raised a hand and silenced Hank. " _Welcome, Professor"_ soothed the electric air in a liquid, female computer voice. Glancing up at his friend, Charles couldn't help but smile fondly, entering Cerebro. The geek was physically trembling with excitement, and he saw how very alive Hank was with this miracle. "Please, Hank. If this is caused by a mutant, you can come along. As for now…" he reached for the spiny helmet and settled it snuggly on his head, flattening his styled volumes of hair.

"Of course, Professor." The globed room flashed black, like the beginning of a film scene in IMAX. Beads of white and red began fading into existence, accelerating and shifting as their avatars adopted to the people's movements in the vague shapes of the continents. The gleeful laughter of a 6 year-old girl sounded as she chased a bouncing ball, her long hair fanning out in slow motion as she turned. An old man walked his dog ritualistically, passing an old lady feeding ducks with her grandson. "And here…we…go." Charles spoke with amusement as the view suddenly bucked forward and began falling into the United States. Hank clenched his fists against a sudden wave of motion sickness and blinked. The murmurs became confused, chaotic shouts of panic the closer he focused. All of a sudden, a mind he knew only too well caught his attention… _Raven._ "Raven is there. Erik. Angel. Someone else…aha. Yes, the blackout was caused by a mutant. She's currently unconscious. I can see-" He brushed her mind cautiously, not wanting to concentrate too hard and overwhelm her. His brows furrowed and his eyes grew sad. "This was an accident. Unintentional. Too much pressure; she'll want guidance. Friends. Healing…"

"I have a lock on her location. We're set." Hank intervened.

Charles closed his eyes and removed the helmet, winking the brilliant spectacle of Cerebro into a lovely, depth defying darkness.

"Do you think Erik is trying to recruit her? If he gets her on his side…well, let's just say she's our only defense against—"

"She's not a defense, she's a person. I have a theory, Hank, one I hope desperately to be incorrect." He halted his chair suddenly. Hank faced him, his expression deeply serious, but still alive with boyish excitement. "If Erik cannot persuade this mutant to join forces with him, he'll see to it personally that she will not join forces with anyone else."

"What do you mean?"

"He's cutting her off, Hank. He'll kill the only person who could be a viable threat to himself."

Nodding curtly, Hank grasped the handles of the wheelchair and hurried the two of them to the jet.


	3. A Sort-of Choice

Angel and Mystique touched down lightly, just behind Magneto. A flick of his wrist stripped the entire left side of the minivan and sent in soaring effortlessly into a sun-streaked meadow. A teenage girl sat motionless, her upper half leaning forwards against the protection of a taught seat-belt. Her head hung limply towards the inside of the vehicle. This was not exactly the introduction Erik had had in mind. Mystique began to stride forward towards the ditch and the totaled wreck, but Erik held his hand and she halted obediently.

I felt the car's tremors as its frame was stripped. The god-awful noise which penetrated my skull is still the worst fucking alarm clock I've ever had the misfortune to experience. _gOD I HATE THAT_. It's the taste of a fork you accidentally scrape your teeth against combined with the hell-sent screech of nails on a chalkboard and the bitterness of tasting the iron in your blood. Wait. _Oh_.

I twitch my tongue in my mouth and taste iron and heat and something too familiar. My teeth hurt where I clacked them together during the impact. There's a pinprick throb half way down my nose that enables me to feel the pulse of my heart in the middle of my head. A light stream trickles down my lips. I assess myself. I made it. I lived. A pang twinges in my core as I silently accept the fact that no joy or relief accompanied these facts. Instead, I seek solace in knowing that nobody will know what I'd been doing. Great cover up, no consequences. I feel the trickle from my nose become more intense. My thoughts come slowly, but I give my senses time to catch up. No rush here. I actually enjoy this new experience of physical apathy. There's the familiar creak of the digits in my left hand, where I know I will have severe arthritis someday. If I live that long. My right wrist feels oddly numb. I feel like I've stopped too fast at the end of an intense rollercoaster.

I lift my head and the world swims as I open my eyes. The thwick….thwick…thwick sound of my blood now streaming out of my nose has me groping for the pack of tissues I keep in the hidden compartment beneath the cup holders. My right leg was almost crushed, but I woozily slide out of the vehicle, wincing as I twist my knee from its confine. I find that keeping my balance demands more attention than usual. Colors don't seem to register as much as _exist_ in a dull haze _._ The light isn't kind. I just want to sit back in the van and end. Just let me sleep. Don't force me to deal with this any longer. I'd rather just stop…just…..stop.

A voice cuts across the meadow.

"Johanna, isn't it?"

Magneto stood above me, his dark figure the only visual comfort in a nauseating sea of bright grays and blues and fog. I stumble upwards awkwardly until I'm out of the ditch. I feel my balance fail and force myself to kneel on the blacktop least I keel over. I think the figure asked me a question; half of me has a response on my lips and the other half has forgotten the question.

"You are lost. Let this world repress you no more—take my hand, and you will escape."

Wait, escape? Escape this world? Skepticism flashes a light in my mind, waking me from my stupor. That's too good to be real. Real life is hardly that convenient. However, if I'm hallucinating, dreaming, then my brain is giving me a choice. I'm must be in the van right now, and I know what this must mean. A wave of joy lifts my cracked, twisted, confused soul and I reach towards the gloved hand.

 _Johanna, you don't know what you're getting into. That's…that's not the Grim Reaper. That's not Death. You're alive, and about to make a very real, very difficult decision without all the information. I'll be with you shortly…and Johanna…hold on. For a little while longer._

I've never had another voice in my head before. It was just like the "me" voice in my head, only I didn't have the forethought notion that initiates my mind voice. I'm too woozy to be in shock at having another soul in my mind.

"Take my hand, Johanna. We'll build a better existence together." Magneto's voice is confident.

My head beginning to clear, I respond with cynicism. "Ya know, you're being quite vague about this. 'A better existence'? You sound like an ad for a free vacation. A spam free vacation. And that's just not nice, playing with people's hopes and dreams like that. Why are you here?"

His hand lowered to his side, his prideful visage melting away to reveal one of slight amusement. "I am Magneto. This is Mystique," he gestured behind him to a blue woman, "and Angel," a woman with…see-through wings. "We are mutants. Born with extraordinary potential, we were held in the dark because ordinary people feared our gifts. I offer a march towards a world where we are free to be who we are. You have a gift unlike any other I have ever seen. Come with us and unlock your potential…Begin again."

I stand shakily. "This is all new to me. I barely understand what just happened. I'm not going to ask what happens if I respectfully decline your offer—" Erik's face became stony, and a glint of danger glimmered in his shaded eyes. Understanding I'd tested the waters correctly, I continued. I'm actually enjoying this. "So I'll simply inquire as to what happens when I agree to join your band of rebels."

Angel stepped forward. "You'll come with us. Train with us. We'll help you realize who you are. You'll be part of a team." She looked to Mystique. "A family."

"There's a kid I know who lives not far from here. I swear she's one of the most clever people I know, if not the cleverest. Are you only collecting abnormally gifted people? I can tell you right now she'd pounce at a chance to begin again."

Magneto tilted his head down in thought, his helmet glinting in the morning sun. "Offered the chance of a life time, yet you hesitate—even bringing up another potential member. You either must care for this gifted person a lot…or you're stalling." He raises his head, eyes locking with mine.

I shift my weight. The sun is dancing in spots in my vision. I know I can't stand for much longer, but I don't care. Not really. Asphalt pillows don't seem too horrible.

"Yes," I reply cryptically.

At that moment, the drone of a small plane breaks the silence and grows louder as it prepares to land in the middle of the road.

"Come with me, now!" Erik bellows above the roar. He lunges forward, grabbing my arm in a painful vice-grip.

"NO!" I try to yank my arm back, but he's dragging me. The others are sprinting to his side. My world spins inside-out. Knowing my balance is irretrievable at this point, I feel the familiar pressure welling against my skull again.

 _Johanna, NO! You don't have to do that, it's not safe— let me handle this— you're not strong enough—_

I could feel that omnipotent voice retract at the last phrase, as if he'd known…known what that would tempt me to do.

Nah. Doesn't matter. Not anymore.

I release the pressure in my skull, and see the crackle of blue energy coil down my arms in impossibly fast, jagged bolts. I see Erik pulled back by Mystique and Angel in slow motion. The voice in my head is shouting something to me, but I can't make out the words.

My last thought an inward smile, my body falls to the pavement.


	4. Chapter 4

_Hello everyone. I know I haven't been very good with updating-school finds a way to get in the way, ya know? Thank you for your support :)_

* * *

Erik's grip on the girl's arm had broken in the last second before the energy was released. Mystique and Angel released their hold on his arms when the ground shook minutely. They'd watched her collapse on the pavement, beneath her a fine layer of black silt where the road had been burned away. The air held burning tar, and Angel's eyes watered. "Come on Erik, we'll try again later. She needs time to think."

He twisted sharply, turning towards Xavier's jet, which had landed behind the crashed van and in the neighboring field.

Magneto's voice dripped with malice as he strode forward.

"You had no right to interfere. I was giving her a choice—or is that a freedom you'd rather see parted?"

The hatch had dropped slowly, and Charles had begun wheeling himself down the ramp before it had reached the ground.

His voice was tired but firm. "Erik, we've been through this before. That wasn't giving her a choice; that was kidnapping. She's wounded and is not in possession of her faculties. How can you expect someone to make a life-changing decision when they are not in their right mind?"

Erik halted a few feet from the landing, his cape's edges rippling forward.

"And if she were in her right mind, what would she choose? Aren't you making decisions for her? I cannot accept her answer until she is away from your worming thoughts—"

Xavier's face hardened. "Erik. I know why you're here. I understand her potential, but I also care about her _life._ "

"Do not attempt to deceive me, Charles. You know as well as I do you're collecting pieces, just as I am."

"It's not a game, Erik. I collect people who need guidance in controlling their gifts. This may include teaching defense, but _never_ outright attack. Ethical issues cannot be solved with violence!"

Magneto shot his friend a steely glance. "She _will_ join one of us, Charles, or she will perish. By choosing her family, she will choose her fate." He turned and took a step towards his transport, where Mystique and Angel watched from a distance. Magneto turned his face to Charles. In the soft undertone, a layer of emotion and weariness could be heard. "Life isn't fair, Charles, and it has no sense of ethics."

Striding along the debris-strewn road, Erik waved his right arm and swept all of the metal along the roadway to line the sides. Stoplights blink on again, street signs are straightened, and the road erupts in car alarms. The unlikely trio board the jet in silence. Mystique pilots the jet up and away from the road as Magneto turns away from the window framing the scene below. "Where to?" Mystique calls.

He smiles, turning his head towards the main window. "Let's see if we can't find this 'clever girl,' shall we?"

Hank approaches Johanna, determines collapse was due to exhaustion and a minor concussion, and lifts her up gently. Cradling her, he returns Johanna to her seat in the totaled minivan. He slips a small letter, into the purse resting on the floor of the passenger's side, and returns to Charles. Shifting into his more human form, Hank looks down at Xavier.

"What happens now?"

"We wait. She is entitled to her own decision…she is safe until she chooses."

"Are you going to contact her? Advertise the school? I'd like to get a closer look at her mutation—this could revolutionize physics as we know it…"

Xavier looked up at Hank, allowing a small smile. "All in good time, Hank, all in good time."


End file.
